Chapter 6 Kick
KICK
When I made it to the caves twenty minutes later, everyone was already there. Ridge had his phone out on the table, screen facing up.
He pushed it in my direction as soon as I sat down. “You’re never gonna believe this.”
A grainy surveillance photo filled the screen—Isabel in work clothes, pruning shears in hand, standing in a vineyard row. Her hair was up in a pony tail. She looked tired. But she was alive.
“Where—”
“Russian River Valley. Whitmore Estate.” Ridge swiped to another photo of Isabel talking to someone near an equipment barn. Yet another showed her walking toward a truck loaded with vineyard tools. “My PI was finally able to track her yesterday afternoon. Turns out she’s working there.”
“She’s working there?” It didn’t make sense. “Why would she—”
“Because Baron would never look there,” Brix said. “And Whitmore’s the last person who’d tell him anything.”
He was right. Baron and Thomas Whitmore had been closer friends but had a bitter feud five years ago over a property dispute.
I studied the images, trying to wrap my head around what I was seeing.
Isabel wasn’t kidnapped or hurt. She’d flown to San Francisco, driven to the Russian River Valley, and gotten herself a job at the one winery where her father would never find her.
It made me feel like an asshole for even thinking it, but why would Isabel want a job that was the equivalent of a farmhand when she was an heiress to a million-dollar fortune?
It was only one of a hundred questions I’d ask as soon as we were face-to-face.
And that would sure as hell be later today.
“Vader needs to know,” Zin said. “The missing persons report is active. His office is coordinating with multiple agencies.”
“Wait.” I looked around the table. “Give me until tonight. Let me talk to her first. Find out what’s going on. I’ll call Baron as soon as I know she’s okay. I promise.”
“Kick—” Brix started.
“Please. Something’s up if she’s hiding at Whitmore’s. Let me figure out what before we bring Baron and law enforcement down on her.”
The room was quiet for several seconds, then Brix nodded. “You’ve got until tonight. Then we call Vader, whether you’ve talked to her or not.”
I was already standing. “I’m leaving now.”
“Kick, wait—” Snapper started.
“No. I need to find out what the hell is going on, and I can’t do that over the phone.” Mainly because she hadn’t taken a single one of my calls, not that I needed or wanted to say that.
I didn’t wait for a response. I was already heading for the door.
I threw a bag in my truck minutes after I arrived at home, then got on the highway heading north. Five hours to the Russian River Valley. Five hours to get answers.
The miles disappeared under my tires as rolling hills gave way to flatter land, then more hills. Soon, everywhere I looked were vineyards, bare and skeletal in winter.
The entire way, my mind wouldn’t stop spinning questions. Why lie about Italy? Whitmore made sense for the very reason Ridge had said, given Thomas would never contact Baron and her father would never think to look there.
But why hide from Baron at all?
When the GPS announced the Russian River Valley exit, my hands tightened on the steering wheel.
I followed the directions to Whitmore Estate. The property sprawled across acres of hillside, with elegant buildings nestled among the vines. Old money. Established reputation. Everything the Van Orrs had, just in a different valley.
A worker passed by carrying pruning shears as I got out after parking near the main building.
“Excuse me. I’m looking for Isabel Van Orr.”
The man stopped. “Who’s asking?”
I opened the door of my truck and motioned inside. “I’ve got a delivery for her.” Not that I really did. Other than myself.
“Somebody mentioned she’s working in vineyard block seven.”
I glanced over at the closest plot marker and saw it was block four. “That way?” I asked.
He nodded once, then went in the opposite direction.
I walked the equivalent of a couple of football fields, not surprised when I didn’t run into anyone else, given it was Sunday.
At the height of the season, it didn’t matter what day of the week it was.
In January, when not a whole lot was going on, most of the bigger operations gave their permanent workers the day off.
Gravel crunched under my boots as I walked up a short incline. When I reached the top, I saw her.
Isabel stood about twenty feet away, working on a vine with pruning shears.
She wore jeans, boots, and a heavy jacket—no designer labels visible, no diamonds, no carefully styled hair.
Just a simple ponytail, dirt on her hands, and the fierce concentration on her work.
Even from here, she looked ten years younger.
The polished princess had disappeared. In her place was someone comfortable in work clothes and vineyard mud.
I’d never seen her more beautiful.
Another ten feet, and she raised her head, and for a moment, we stared at each other across rows of vines.
Shock turned into recognition, and color drained from her face so fast I could see it happen. Then the blood rushed back, flooding high on her cheekbones.
She dropped the pruning shears and ran in the opposite direction.
“Isabel!” I broke into a sprint.
She cut through the vine rows toward an equipment barn on the far side of the property faster than I’d anticipated as she weaved between them with the desperation of someone running from more than just a person.
But I was faster. Longer legs and better wind from years of rodeo work gave me the advantage. As I closed the distance, she glanced back, saw me gaining, and pushed harder.
She made it to the equipment barn before I caught her arm and spun her around.
She crashed into my chest. For one terrible, wonderful second, all I felt was relief that she was alive, that I’d found her.
Then she shoved against me. “Let go of me.”
I didn’t. “Not until you tell me what’s going on.”
“I lied. I’m obviously not in Italy. You found me. Congratulations. Now, let go.”
“Why?”
She wrenched free and put distance between us. “How did you find me?” She sounded panicked. Raw and sharp and undeniable.
“Small world, Isabel.” I stepped closer. “Why are you hiding?”
“You can’t tell my father where I am.”
“Okay, but why?” I asked for the third time.
“He, um, cut me off.”
I raised a brow. “He sure didn’t let on when he asked me if I knew where you were. He’s concerned, Isabel. He filed a missing person’s report with Vader.”
She looked off in the distance and shook her head. “That isn’t worry; it’s lack of control.”
“Call it what you want, but law enforcement is looking for you, Isabel, and if I can find you, so can they.”
She worried the inside of her cheek like I’d seen her do so many times before. It was probably something she didn’t even know she did.
I took a step closer, and she took one back. We repeated the dance until her shoulders hit the barn wall and she had nowhere left to go.
“What are you running from?”
“I’m not running—”
“You’re terrified. I can see it.”
She laughed, but the sound came out broken. “You don’t know me as well as you think you do.”
“Wrong.” I planted a hand on the wall beside her head. “You’re not as good an actress as you think you are.”
Her eyes met mine. Green and wide and full of things she wasn’t saying. Neither of us moved. The air between us felt charged—almost dangerous.
Then footsteps crunched on the gravel behind me.
“Izzy, are you okay?”
I turned when a man approached. He was tall, dark-haired, and familiar, wearing expensive boots that had actually seen work. He studied Isabel with concern, then me with wariness.
Isabel exhaled like she’d been holding her breath. “It’s okay, Bas.”
Bas. Sebastian Whitmore. Thomas’s son. I’d seen him at a few wine industry events over the years.
When I stepped away, he positioned himself between me and Isabel. Not threatening, but the message was direct. “Avila. What are you doing here?”
“Talking to Isabel.”
“Does she want you here?” He looked at her, and I caught the way his expression softened. It was protective in a way that made my teeth clench.
An ache I didn’t want to acknowledge twisted in my sternum.
“Do you want him escorted off the property?” Bas asked her.
I was about to protest, to puff out my chest like he was, but then I saw Isabel hesitate and waited. I could see the war playing out. Fear, but not of me—that was a relief—mixed with something else. Connection maybe? Neither of us could deny we had one. “He’s okay,” she responded.
Bas didn’t like that answer, but he nodded before looking at me one more time. Then he turned to Isabel. “I’ll be close by if you need me. Anything at all, Izzy.”
“You hate it when people call you that,” I said once he was far enough away not to hear me.
“Only some people.”
I raised a brow, but dropped the argument I was about to launch into when she wrapped her arms around herself.
She looked small and vulnerable. Everything she used to hide behind an icy demeanor.
“Why are you here?” The question burst out of her. “You made it very clear what you thought of me. I’m spoiled and—”
“I apologized. More than once, Izzy.”
I expected her to make some kind of fuss, but she didn’t.
“It doesn’t matter anymore.” She turned away. “You need to go.”
“I can’t—”
Her eyes filled with tears she blinked away with fierce determination. “Please, Kick. If you ever cared about me at all, just go. Tell my father I’m alive. Tell him I’ll come home when I’m ready. But don’t tell him where I am.”
The plea in her tone shattered something inside of me. “When will you be ready?”
“Maybe never.”
“You can’t seriously—”
The gaze she leveled at me was the closest she came to looking like the Isabel I’d known most of my life. Proud, defensive, fierce.
I should walk away. Respect her wishes and leave her to whatever she was trying to do. But every instinct I had was screaming that this was very wrong. That whatever had sent her here had nothing to do with her dad.
“Just go. Please.”
“No,” I said.
She blinked. “What?”
“I’m not leaving. You want to stay here and hide? Fine. But I’m staying too.”
“That’s insane.”
“Probably.” I crossed my arms. “But I’m not going back to Paso Robles without getting some answers. And I’m sure as hell not leaving you alone when you look like you haven’t slept since I last saw you.” I reached for my phone.
“What are you doing?”
“Calling Baron. Not to tell him where you are, but to let him know I’m with you.”
“Kick—”
I was already dialing. Baron answered on the first ring.
“Did you find her?”
“Yes. She’s safe, and she’s with me.”
“Where?” His words were sharp. “I’ll send someone—”
“She doesn’t want to come home yet. She needs time.”
A long silence. “Time? Is this about the trust fund? Tell her if she thinks running away will change my mind—”
“This isn’t about money.”
“Everything with Isabel is about money. Or attention.” Another pause. “What’s she doing? Who’s she with?”
“She’s working—”
“Working?” His laugh was bitter. “My daughter has never worked a day in her life.”
I bit back the response about how he maybe didn’t know his daughter as well as he thought. “She’s safe. That’s what matters.”
“What matters is she disappeared without a trace. Do you know how that looks? Jesus, now, I have to call the sheriff and tell him she needs some time.” His voice hardened.
“You tell her she has two weeks to stop this nonsense and come home. After that, I’m cutting her off completely.
No trust fund. No credit cards. Nothing. ”
I glanced at Isabel, who stood close enough to hear her father through the phone, except his words didn’t seem to faze her.
“I’ll let her know.”
I hung up without saying goodbye and looked into her eyes.
“He gave you two weeks,” I said softly.
“You told him I was okay. That’s what you came to do, so you can leave now.”
“I’m not going anywhere. You want to stay here and hide? Fine. But I’m staying too.”
“That’s insane.”
“Probably.” I crowded her up against the barn.
This time closer than before, so our bodies were a fraction of an inch from touching.
“But I’m not going back to Paso Robles without getting some answers.
And I’m sure as hell not leaving you alone when you look like you haven’t slept since I last saw you. ”
The way Bas had studied her flashed through my mind. The protectiveness. The intimacy of that nickname. The way he’d positioned himself between us like he had the right.
It—he—was another reason I wouldn’t leave. There was unfinished business between Isabel and me, and I’d be damned if I would step aside and let some other guy make a move before the two of us figured our shit out.
She opened her mouth to argue, then closed it. The fight seemed to drain out of her all at once, leaving just exhaustion behind.
She whispered, “You can’t stay forever, Kick.”
My eyes bored into hers.
“Watch me.”